A Prince in Disguise
by Djali is Queen
Summary: A 'Spirited Hearts' story. Human girl and Ramas. She won't discover that it's him 'till chapter 3.
1. Chapter 1

Covered from crown to foot in sweat and soot from the fires, Cicero, the best blacksmith's apprentice for about two miles around, dropped her forge's hammer to the ground. She panted lightly as she admired her newest piece of armor, a breastplate designed for a General from the North. It was not her best, but she was certain the General would see little to complain about.

This was not the first piece that she had completed without the blacksmith, Goron, directing and overseeing her. Cicero had been working with him for several years now, since her father, a General in the King's Imperial Army, had found her a spot here.

Goron was a kind enough man, though at first Cicero had thought him a cruel taskmaster, always scolding her and shouting orders at her; but initial views, Cicero had come to realize, were often wrong. Goron had sat her down three months into her training as his striker and told her she had a talent but she wasn't using it to its full potential. They ate dinner together that night and talked and discussed her future and both their lives. That night Cicero learned that he had a child (a boy) and wife who were far away and that he missed them greatly and Cicero loved him for it; though her father had been a general he had raised Cicero to empathize with those who may be seen as an enemy—not to the extent that they kill you, of course. But that was long ago, when Cicero had been a delicate eighteen.

Walking slowly across the wide open room Cicero cleared her head of old memories. She sat down quietly and watched her breastplate glitter in the sun that bounded in through the archway. It had taken her a month to manipulate the metal into the elaborate crests and designs that the General had insisted upon having and now Cicero was certain that the General would pay her at least a hundred gold for the work she had done for him. There were vines crossing over and under the General crest, a great hawk ready to strike and three spears. Behind the crest was a dragon, lashing his tail at the bird and yawning toward a shoulder. Spirits and flowers pecked lightly along the armor, but it did not distort the idea. Either way, she thought, if a man came close enough to laugh at a flower the general would have his head.

The light patter of feet could be heard outside, closer than the townsfolk but slightly hesitant. Cicero stood from her bench and made her way back to the forge, dragging her wrist across her forehead. She was anxious for new work, and hoping that a soldier had dashed his shield or cracked his helmet, she fixed her eyes on the archway, heat licking at her back.

Had she expected a friend to come in through the door Cicero might have made herself more presentable. As it was, she had not thought a thing of her appearance and not spared a thought for a friend. Ramas strode through the door, smiling at her. As she knew he would not speak first she bayed him a "Good morning, Ramas" and made her way toward him.

"Good morning. How are you today?" he asked, a merry smile running across his face.

"I'm well enough. You haven't brought me any new work have you? I'm afraid I have a horseshoe and a kettle to mend, and that's all." She let her knees buckle playfully and looked up at her friend, "I'm dying."

Ramas too was a kind soul, very bright and charming with a dash of star-crossed fate on his side. He reached one tender hand down to Cicero, taking her callused blacksmith's hand in his own. Never once did his smile fade away.

"I have a sword that could use some mending." A small and devious thought passed through her mind as he unsheathed his belt, but it was quickly dash as the blade came into view.

"Good god, Ramas, what on earth did you do to it?"

"A horde of zombies, three trolls and a necromancer attacked me in the middle of my watch." His eyes shifted to Cicero who had walked into the sunlight to get a better look at the bent metal. "I smashed them all to pieces. I admit, I was lucky to escape with my life."

A low laugh slipped out of Cicero's mouth before she turned around, the sword rocking against her hip. "There is no need to lie to me, Ramas." There was a sweet and gentle smile playing at her lips as she spoke but Ramas' face did not reflect her emotions. His eyebrow twisted up, opposing his mouth which was turning at the edges into a frown.

"Lie to you? Do you not believe me?"

Though she tried to press her lips into a straight face Cicero found her smile to be too much for her to control. The thought passed through her mind that her wide smile might appear as more of a wicked grin, and she turned away from Ramas. The blade bit lightly into her flesh as she suppressed herself.

"Oh, Ramas, I love you dearly, but I would be a fool to think that every word from that pretty mouth of yours was an honest one. Now come, Pied Piper," the sword was balanced on two of her fingers just above her head and the light from it shone in her eyes, "tell me how you did it."

Though she could not see his face from the door a bright blush had risen into Captain Ramas' cheeks. His thumb rubbed absentmindedly at his nose as his jaw fell open to say that he had not wholly lied. "They were there," he swore "but the sword… I hit it against a boulder as I ran away."

Sunlight splashed against her hair when she turned to face him and burned in a bright halo around her head. Cicero smiled and wiped a smudge of soot onto her face, then walked across the room and placed the sword by the hearth.

"Honesty, Ramas, is all that I needed." She realized something and turned on the pad of her foot, quickly making her way to Ramas. She could tell now that he was blushing and her smile widened.

"Oh, my sweet Captain. What a silly creature you must be. Were you… were you trying to impress me Ramas?"

Though he towered over her, the sturdy blond seemed to be shrinking to the size of a mouse trapped in a corner.

"That's preposterous! Why would I—"

With one swift movement Cicero silenced him, though it seemed rather impractical that a hand on his forearm might be the culprit. Cicero looked from her calloused and soot speckled hand to Ramas whose mouth had hardly parted and could not close again. There was something very warm stirring in Cicero's breast, but what it was she could not imagine. A tenderness came over her as she said to him, "It's actually rather sweet," and after a long moment turned back to the sword.

"The gash isn't too terrible. Come back for it at the end of the week and I promise you no one will be able to tell the difference. Your sword will be even better than it was."

"Y—yes. I'll come back."

The shush of fabric and the small clinks of clips and pins told Cicero that Ramas had left, though she swore she had heard him stumble. It was, was rather ridiculous that he would fall, but he was a ridiculous man… but for all his ridiculousness she wouldn't have given him up for… She swept the sword up in her hands and set to work on it. She would not lie to him: the blade would be better than it had ever been, and she would make sure of it.

* * *

"Oh, but Goron, it is so hot. I don't think I could lift my foot, much less a hammer."

Cicero had sprawled herself out beneath the forge which most certainly was not helping her situation. The heat was intense enough without lying beneath the throbbing flames, but she could not bring herself to move. She felt as though an immense creature had set itself upon her head and drain all energy from her body. A piece of her thought that is she moved her head would fall right off her shoulders and into the fires.

Goron was sitting at the other end of the airy room, his giant's feet hanging listlessly from a table. One of his great paws was covering his face and the other had found a bucket of water and was lamely submerged into it, as though it were waiting for a fish to latch on.

"Augh, what I would give," moaned his hand "to lie here all day. But there is work to be done, little pea, and it will not do itself."

One eye in Cicero's head, the one, she felt, that had not yet melted into wax, glared helplessly at the bear of a man. "Why Goron, you do seem to be working splendidly today, I might as well join you."

"You are a right smart little ass, pea." For a quiet moment they two lay in their respective retreats but the silence was broken by a low beastly growl. "All right, I'm up, pea, now let's get to work. There's a blow hard general and three of his men who need their armor repaired and we'll have no time if we don't get to work now. Up with you."

Something dull but painfully was hitting Cicero's stomach and though she didn't want to move through the deep ocean of insatiable heat much less work, she saw little choice in the matter. She swatted at the foot (Oh! the effort!) and brought herself onto her hide, her palms pressing into the hard earth beneath the forge.

"You, my good sir, are an ass."

One great meaty paw landed clumsily on Cicero's shoulder. She put her fingers under it and waited for Goron to lift her up, which he did with a considerable effort.

"Watch who you're callin' an ass. I pay you."

"I make most of your goods and clients."

"Cheeky."

"Old."

"Ah, the love and care and time that I put into raising you and all I get is a brazen young creature who can weld a piece of copper to a shield. Oh aye, aye, I am old little pea, but when you are my age may your children give you the same lip that you give me. Old, aye."

"Is she taunting you again, Goron?"

Lingering in the door way was the tall and lithe figure of a soldier, a silhouette of man in their door way. Goron placed his hands on his knees a moment, resting his large gourd above them. His burnt beard ends shook when he spoke.

"Oh, fer the love of all things, yes, she is. She as intelligent a woman as her father was a man, with all the same wit, though she has a nasty predisposition to bitterness. I can't say that isn't natural though, it certainly seems to be a running trait." He pressed himself off his knees, his great head thrown back with little flickers of sweat. He eyed the shadow for a moment before a rascally smile stretched from cheek to cheek. "Maybe you, young Ramas, can help our little miss break her terrible ways. They say a soldier is best to tame a shrew."

"Goron!"

Ramas strolled into the room, one hand on his belt the other waving through the air. "You needn't yell, Cicero. I think it would take far more than a mere soldier to tame your sharp tongue." The two men laughed at their cleverness while Cicero sneered and tried not to look too offended.

"And you say it is my sex prone to mockery Goron?"

The old smith wrapped one of his great fur covered arms around Ramas' shoulder, making the fellow look twice as small. "Ah, but Ramas is a reasonable man. He only presses when pressed." And the two men laughed again, though Goron's was more a roar.

"Of course, Goron," Cicero drew a gloved hand across her forehead, a great black streak replacing her sweat, "but you can tell me that the next time he comes in when I'm working and tells me that I've a nice rump." She turned away from the two when she saw Goron's face drop. There was a mallet that she lifted and tossed the thing over her shoulder. As she picked up a breastplate and set to work, already pouring sweat, she could hear Goron, even over the thunderous clang of metal work, shouting at the man he had been hugging only moments ago. Cicero smiled coyly to herself, thinking of the wonderful reprieve she might find in the nearby lake.

* * *

Clear crystal spring water was irrationally hard to find within two days of the capital city. It had only taken Cicero a week to learn this. Cicero had grown up in a remote house in the forest where her father, the general, had gone away to retire. The woodlands were filled with unexplored lands and there had always been a warm spring within walking distance where Cicero could relax after a hard day's training. She had become so accustomed to talking a long walk into the woods to find relief that when she first moved into the capital she had searched high and low for a public bath house that might have suited her tastes. Each house was unfortunately worse than the next and she had quickly turned her eyes to the forests to the east. It was a day long walk to the forest and another to find the spring, but tucked away in a mountain ridge there was a small mineral spring, bubbling and just ready to step into. It was here that Cicero found herself, three years after moving in, and dying for a dip in the warm waters.

With nose touching water it would have been hard for any other human to breath, but Cicero found comfort in the proximity of the surface. She had been doing this for so long that breathing water was second nature. She could hold her breath for several minutes when she wanted. Sometimes Cicero even thought that if a thief tried to drown her she could just swim away. Her head slipped beneath the water, but even with her eyes closed she could see the sun smiling at her from the sky. After a minute she immerged, settling her head once more on the stony shores.

In the middle of the wilderness she was at peace. There was something therapeutic to the great outdoors, though she had no idea what it was, just that it was. She loved being out in the wide world with no human contact to hush her thoughts. Out here all there was was nature and thought and herself.

"Mmmm…"

Of course, there was also that. She had tried not to think about it, because, well honestly, it was a little bit embarrassing. She hadn't been infatuated with a man since… since Lukas, the smith's apprentice in the village to the south of her father's mansion had proven to be so sweet and kind and susceptible to her feminine wiles. He had been such a dashing boy, covered from head to toe is soot with those little white trails falling across his muscled body like adventures. Oh yes, Cicero thought, letting her hands fall to her sides, he had been quite the perfect boy to be enamored with, the perfect first love. And now she had a tin soldier to stand in place of her dirty working hand. This man was polished and refined and had such a humor that poor little Lukas, who though terribly sweet and older than she, was very easily embarrassed, looked a bit like are fool next to him.

A tin soldier, yes, that was what he was; in his smart baby blue jacket, with those ridiculous shoulders like smelted joints. He had that handsome smile, where his eyes would crinkle up, mischievous and young, which reminded her of a doll that her father had given to her as a child. The doll had bright polished brass buttons, maybe gold, running up and down his breast, two lines, and a bright satin cape wrapped round his shoulders. Cicero's eyes opened and she sat up straight. It was rather eerie how much Ramas was like her little soldier. Ramas of course was much more handsome than any doll, but… they even had the crossed straps along their waist that led into the jetting coat tails.

"Oh my…"

Cicero stood up from the water, splashing her way across the shallows of the spring and to the opposite shore where, just up ahead there was a little fall that she would sit beneath and cool off in. And then she would start her way back into town. And maybe… when she got there she would write to her father and ask for her doll, and tell him how wonderfully she was living and that… that she had met a man who she was falling in love with.


	2. Chapter 2

After four years of living in the city Cicero was beginning to think of returning to her father's home in the woods. He was still doing quite well her maid had told her, and missed her terribly; and the thought of her stern old father living alone in that giant mansion…

"Ramas, have you ever been into the Neitherlands?"

Ramas turned in his barstool to look at the smith, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"I went there once, but it was long time ago. I can hardly remember anything. Although, I do remember a pretty young girl in a flower shop; sold me the most horrendous bouquet of flowers, but she was so handsome I couldn't say no to her. Lips like cherries in the summer…"

The Captain of the guards turned on his stool, loosing himself in thought, though whether he was playing fun or actually reminiscing she couldn't tell. Cicero took her wine glass and hit him with the base, making sure not to spill.

"You are such a cad, you silly tin soldier you. You oughtn't to make fun of a girl so."

"I'm making fun of you am I?" His eyebrow cocked and he took a long sip from his glass. "Well, I'm terribly sorry Cicero. I shall never again look at another woman, much less think of one."

"And there you go to it again, mocking me. I would not ask you to look at me, much less another woman. You are not my baggage to carry, you terrible chiding child." Cicero had turned away from him, making sure that he could not see the blush that had taken control of her face. At the other end of the bar there was a seedy looking man who seemed to be enjoying Cicero more than was necessary. Somewhat self-consciously Cicero pressed her hands down over her hips and she turned back to Ramas.

"Is there something wrong with the way I've dressed, Ramas? That man is… leering at me."

Cicero was unaccustomed to wearing dresses, but she felt that an evening on the town with Ramas, even as a friend, was something that she ought to dress up for, even if it was only the littlest bit. Her coveralls were disgusting and she hadn't wanted to embarrass him in public, so she had dug into the back of her dresser where she had found an old, spotted dress, one her father had given her the summer before she left home; it was a simple dress, almost childish in style if not for the deep neckline, but she had thought it informal enough to pass as friendly attire. Her hand began to tug nervously at the hem, afraid that her undergarments might be showing.

Ramas leaned over the bar, almost hitting one of the wenches with his long blond hair. He seemed to have made contact with the man for he was staring the man down as though he thought to jump up and slay the bastard. After a moment he slipped back into his seat to face a wide-eyed Cicero.

"He's one of my men," Ramas said as her fell into an angry shrug, his eyes close to shut beneath his furrowed brow. "I'm so sorry, Cicero. I always knew he was a lecher, I've just never had to deal with him." He covered his face with one of his spindly hands and said, "I could teach him a lesson tomorrow. He deserves it."

Touched might have been what she felt at the sight of Ramas' abject humiliation, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Instead Cicero touched her wine glass to the counter and let her freed hand fall onto Ramas' bent, grey knee. A small sound of surprise fell from somewhere and his hand dropped into his lap. It was awfully close to Cicero, but she wasn't about to complain.

"You don't have to do anything for me Ramas, you know that. We're friends, yes? I'm just glad he's not ogling me anymore. He's a greasy sort, eh?"

"Yes. Yes, he is a bit greasy," Ramas said with a grin. His eyes opened fully after a moment and he sat up straight, leaning back slightly on his stool. "You look fine you know. Actually Cicero, you look rather, ah… rather pretty tonight. Did I miss something? I thought your birthday was in August?"

"W-well yes, my, my birthday is in August, but I never dress nicely and I thought it might be a nice change of pace and I didn't have anything else to wear and I was hoping that this would be okay because I haven't worn it in years and as a smith I don't have to have a dress, because really it's rather impractical, and-"

"Good lord, Cicero, it's all right. Forget I said anything." Ramas set one hand on top of hers and with the other signaled to the bar keep. He ordered them each another glass of wine and Cicero did not fail to notice the look the barkeep gave them and the look that Ramas gave to the man at the other end of the bar. "Now then," he whispered turning to Cicero with his fresh glass, "Why were you talking about the Neitherlands?"

Cicero's finger twitched beneath Ramas' and, much to her disappointment, he dropped his hand away and handed her a fresh glass. She was blushing profusely and was surprised to see nothing but excitement in his eyes. By now, the blacksmith thought, Ramas should have made fun of her.

"Well," Cicero began, eying her wine cautiously. She wasn't sure she wanted to ask him. But they had known each other for almost four years. "I've told you that my father was in the military and that he retired," her eyes flashed up to catch Ramas nodding as he sipped his wine, "But I never told you that my father asked me to leave. Now, I know what you're thinking," she blurted this as she caught him faltering mid-sip, "But he has never fully recovered from his battle wounds, and being a man of the sword, his dignity is too great for him to allow me the… well, he is a kind enough man that he does not want to let me watch him die. I left my home of my own will, but with his encouragement. And he did not leave me alone, for he obtained for me a job with Goron, and gave me a home but…" Cicero's gaze fell to the rim of her wine glass as her finger traced the rim. She was hunched ever so slightly and Ramas had to lean in to hear her. "I miss home, Ramas, and I was thinking of going back."

She caught his eyes again and, sitting straight up, brought her hands waving through the air. "No, I mean, not forever, just for a week or two."

Ramas, who had nearly fallen from his seat with the shock of her confession, relaxed back onto barstool and lapped at the rest of his wine, eyes tightly shut. When he had finished the drink he opened his eyes and managed to say "You're terrifying, pea."

"Oh shut up, I'm not done." This was the way things ought to be: friendly and playful. Ramas tried not to laugh at her sincerity, but he seemed to be struggling. She tried to rationalize his giggles with the amount of wine he had been drinking. "Ramas, would you come with me? To see my father?"

Immediately Ramas' face fell into something resembling seriousness. He placed his empty glass on the counter and when a wench asked if he wanted more he brushed the offended bargirl away.

"You want me to come with you?" There was a strain to his voice and suddenly Cicero wanted his hand on top of hers again. She twiddled her thumbs in her lap while trying to remain dignified.

"I know it sounds rash and like an ill thought out plan, but I can't go to see him alone, Ramas. I haven't seen my father in over three years and I'm not sure I can handle seeing him. I live a rather solitary life and really it's just you and Goron and the girl down in the market who I call 'friend,' but you are the one I want to take with me." She straightened her back and lifted her chin. Sitting there, in the middle of the bar, in a dress that had not seen the light of day in years, Cicero looked something of a queen. "Come with me, Ramas." He words were not the pitiful begging of the girl who had started the conversation, but those of a well-bred, honest, straight-thinking, passionate, deliberate and powerful woman. Ramas was a taken aback, and, under a perverse bewitchment, nodded his head. Cicero melted back into the adolescent she was and sprang to her feet, throwing her arms around him. "Thank you Ramas! But," she pulled back, her face only a space away "can you come for certain?"

"I-I-yes. Of course I can come, Cicero. I mean, what are friends for, eh? If not for wild journeys into the Neitherlands, then what, eh? I'm sure there's, there's someone to take my place. I'm high enough up in the ranks. When do we leave then?"

"Well-"

As Cicero's vacation fell into place she noticed the glimmer in her soldier's eyes and the flashes of lightening that dashed through them when their eyes met. There was more than one occasion where Cicero found herself coughing over her shoulder to hide a blush, but it was not for the sexual nature of the stolen glances. No, maybe it was because she realized how much Ramas seemed to care for her, how much he wanted to protect her.

"I hope we return before winter hits."

The road was a long and winding one, bordered on either side by great orange elms that watched over the two with restless eyes, and at the end was Cicero's old home. Cicero fiddled with the hold of the blade she had made for her father, some of her finest work, and kicked at the ground.

"We should be. There are still leaves on the trees, yes? And I'm sure that my father would lend us a carriage and a guard for our ride back. The maid said they had no problems with money. Lukas said so too. Well, you heard what he said."

Out of the corner of her eye Cicero could see Ramas nodding hesitantly. She took here eyes from the slope before her and stared at Ramas. There was something stiff, unnatural about the way he walked, something uneasy.

"Are you all right Ramas?"

"What? Oh. Oh, yes, I'm all right. I was just thinking." A smile came to Ramas' face, the playful kind that made Cicero's heart beat a little faster. He was just a child in school. "That Lukas of yours is quite the handsome man. Actually, he seemed to be overly nice to you. If I didn't know better, Cicero, I would say…" Even the unfinished sentence left Cicero stammering and blushing madly.

"I… If you think… That's just terrible of you. I haven't seen him in years. How could anything…?"

Ramas raised his hand above his head, brushing the falling leaves gently. "Oh come now, I was just joking with you. But you do like him right? Or you did? I can see it in the way you looked at each other."

One arm slipped around her stomach, the knife still held tightly in hand. Her head fell back, putting her slightly off balance. Ramas snickered playfully at her before nudging her with his elbow.

"I did, but it was a long time ago. He was very sweet to me, and I was very glad to have him because he treated me like a woman. My father always acted like I was his little soldier, his prodigy, and because of that I was always acting like a little boy: rushing around, playing at war, fighting. Those sorts of things. But Lukas…" She shifted uneasily as she walked, trying to find something to do with her hands. They twitched as they neared Ramas' swinging digits. "For my father's birthday one year I convinced Lukas to let me forge a sword. I knew my father would love it, military and all, and I was so happy when he said I could. But I was young and had no training.

"The sword came out awfully, chipping, pieces of it falling off in strips, though the brunt was good enough. I was devastated and my father's birthday was only a day or two away… That's when Lukas walked in. He laughed a little but said he was sorry and asked if he could help, and I said, 'I'll need more than help.'

"In the armory there hung three of the most beautiful swords I've ever seen. I could never even imagine making something of such wonderful quality and of such magnificence. Practical and worthy of a king. Anyway, these three swords were hung on the wall and I pointed to one and asked Lukas if I could have it. He said no right away, but I knew that he was a tender boy so, well, I flirted with him. I'd never really flirted with anyone before, one of the guards and our cook and a prince that my father had introduced me to, but Lukas… something felt right about my hand on his, his breath on my neck, and I think… I fell in love with him a little that day. And of course, I got the sword too."

The mansion was within sight, and Cicero wanted to keep talking. But the sight of the house, just as grand as it had ever been, with one glistening figure patrolling the grounds, the beauty of her home made her mute. She closed her eyes a moment. This was it. This was what she had been dreaming of. The guard seemed to have spotted them for there was a shout and the clamor of armored feet thrashing the ground.

"Who goes there?"

"Blacksmith Cicero Ire, daughter of the Great General Ire, Lord of Setlend, Master of Kreatlend Second Class! Permission to enter?"

Somewhere overhead buzzed a happy little blue bird, chippering on about something or other, but happy as a summer's day. The creature buzzed her and landed a few meters away, perching himself happily in an old elm. For a moment the guard seemed to be a bit confused by the greeting he had received and stared at the girl and her companion as though he had just seen a ghost. But his befuddlement melted away into something warmer, and then he was roaring with laughter and dashing as fast as his armored toes could carry him, singing with all the joy of the little bird in his tree.

"Cicero!" burst the old soldier, melody flooding his strong old voice. He outstretched his arms as he neared her and soon she was wiggling her toes in the air, giggling at the sight of her old friend, her arms pinned beneath his.

"Oh, Allan, you old codger! I thought you died years ago!"

The watchmen's laugh renewed itself and he squeezed the girl tighter, forcing a small yelp through her smiling lips.

"You sassy child, you haven't changed one bit! I'm just as healthy as I ever have been, though my beard is white."

"I can see that," coughed the girl who had at last freed her arms from his pliers and was wrapping them around his neck and nuzzling her head against his with girlish laughter. "You can hold me back and my arms are nothing but muscle from all of my work with the blacksmith! Why Allan, I believe you are stronger than ever."

Cicero smiled as the soldier looked up into her eyes, adoration filling them to the brim. She was soft in the autumn forest light, as though she were an apparition or an elf of the tenderest heart. Yes, her smile was softer here and as she bent down and kissed the soldier's wrinkled brow something magical seemed to blow through the air; something inexplicable.

Never opening his eyes, the soldier sighed and set the girl he had watched grow into a young woman upon the ground. He opened his eyes slowly and simply smiled lovingly at her for a moment or two before kissing her bowed hear and hugging her once more.

"It's been a long time, Cicero."

"It has, Allan," sighed the smith into her old guardian's shoulder. "Too long. How's the General?"

The sentry pulled away slowly, his smile fading as he progressed. His hands stayed on her shoulders as he stared at her, as though he were contemplating what he ought to say. "The General is better than he was, Cicero, but I don't think he will live much longer. He is old, child."

From where he stood behind her Ramas could not see the expression on Cicero's face as she was told of her father's imminent death, but when she spoke he was surprised to hear a happiness in her voice. Her heart had to have been broken…

"Well then, I suppose we ought to see him now then. Oh…" Cicero turned around and took Ramas by the sleeve, presenting him to the guard. "Allan, this is Ramas, Captain of the Guards. We're good friends," she said with stern reprimand as she caught the look that Allan gave him as he took the fresh young man in, "And I expect you to be nice to him."

With a gruff grunt and another up-and-down of the boy, the retired soldier nodded and gave his hesitant word to behave himself. Both knew that Ramas would be tested by this man and both had their ideas about what would happen. Allan tapped his metal toe and stepped boldly between his child and her "friend," leading them into the house where the General would make his death bed.


End file.
